All For You (Boys of the South)

by Marquita Valentine

“Lie to me, baby.”

  “Weston Diaz has been in love with you from the moment he saw you sashaying your way across campus, in your denim skirt and cowgirl boots.” Julia giggles. “I was in love with your outfit.”

  I make a noise of disbelief, not at her love for my clothing choices, but at her assessment of West. “One: I don’t sashay. Two: a jock god like him would never notice a mere mortal while dating a goddess. Three: I barely spoke two words to him my first month of school.” And when a guy’s in love, he sure as hell doesn’t kiss and tell. But I never told Julia the truth, and she assumed he’d lied about me.

  “Even gods can go all wackadoodle over mortals.”

  I cut my eyes at her. “Wackadoodle?”

  She grins. “Thinking of copyrighting it.”

  “Good luck with that.” I sit up, curling my legs in front of me.

  Tonight I’m restless, uneasy at the thought of West in town. It hurts my heart when I see him, when I hear him say my name, but not like before, not like when I was faced with seeing him the last few months of school, on the arm of Charlie Foster.

  He’d stopped tormenting me, but she made what he had done look like child’s play. Once she’d cornered me in the bathroom, had one of her minions hold me, and had cut off a huge hunk of hair before a teacher had walked in. I’m convinced Charlie would have made me bald if she’d had enough alone time.

  “He said he loved the way your hair smells, you bitch,” she sneered at me, pulling my hair so tight my scalp stung. “Didn’t know shit could ever smell good.”

  One of the worst parts of being bullied is feeling ashamed, like it was your fault, like you’d done something to make another person do this to you. Only I didn’t know what I’d done to her.

  She and West were broken up, and I’d been tipsy, buzzed on a few drinks, his seemingly sincere apology, and his kisses when we’d hooked up.

  “Charlie mentioned something about her and West going to The Oaks Christmas Party together,” Julia says, grabbing her phone. She plays a round of Candy Crush before rolling to the side and propping up her head with the palm of her hand. “I swear that girl thinks he’s going to propose to her.”

  “The two of them deserve each other,” I say, concentrating on the sparkly toenail polish I’d applied only thirty minutes earlier. I wiggle my toes, sigh, and then look at my best friend. “You don’t have to give me every detail about them, Julia. I don’t care, not anymore.”

  Julia gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know, I just thought it would be a relief to know—”

  “A relief?” I cry. “How is it a relief to know she gets to have her version of a happily ever after with the guy who”— I swallow, “while I can’t even date a guy all because… he—”

  I look up at the ceiling, my eyes closing when Julia wraps her arms around me.

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I assure her. “I should be over this by now, don’t you think? I’m not seventeen with a broken heart anymore.”

  “Maybe your heart doesn’t know that,” she says gently. “You need closure, honey. Let him give it to you for Christmas.”

  ***

  The next morning, West stops by, bringing his peace offering of donuts and hot chocolate, and continues to do so for the rest of the week.

  Each time, after stilted conversation about the weather, classes, and friends we don’t have in common, I throw away the bag and pour out the chocolate, but not before he drives away. Considering all that he’s done to me over the years, it’s more than he deserves.

  You would think he would have gotten the message, with my lack of response but no.

  Instead he’s here again, parking his black Porsche right up front, like he deserves that spot. I have half a mind to take some paint and make every spot reserved for anyone who isn’t Weston Diaz.

  But I won’t. Instead, I made sure to wear my tallest boots and sternest expression the next time he walks in, but he still has six inches on me.

  Gah!

  “Morning,” he says, hands going in his pockets, like if he doesn’t put them there he might touch me again. Fat chance of that happening, mostly because I won’t let him.

  Or maybe he doesn’t want to touch me, because I’m not Charlie.

  I frown. “Where’s the peace offering?”

  His mouth kicks up at one corner, that enticing dimple of his appearing. “Tired of wasting my money on food you’re not eating.”

  A dull heat washes over me. “How do you-”

  He nods at the trashcan. The bags all sit there, partially open.

  “I don’t like donuts.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Not that kind.”

  Oh my God, I’m such a liar. I love donuts, and donuts love my hips and thighs. During the winter, I have to make myself not eat them, because I don’t get to go out on jobs as much to work off all the extra calories. Sure, I could use the gym on campus, but I don’t have time, and I’m more of an outdoors person anyways. Running on a treadmill like a hamster in a cage doesn’t appeal to me.

  Besides, I want an end product when I work out, more than just being able to wear my skinny jeans or fill out my bikini in the summer, without looking like a busted can of biscuits.

  A perfectly push-mowed lawn, flowers planted just so, tilling up the earth and pulling weeds—that’s what I want to see. That’s what makes my aching muscles worth it. Besides, I plan to become partners with my dad, and when the time comes, take Walsh Lawn Services over so he can retire.

  West takes a breath and sits in the chair directly in front of my desk, giving me the power position in the room. Is he doing this to make me comfortable or is this a part of his strategy to—what exactly, I don’t know, and that’s what frustrates me the most.

  He takes off his beanie and runs a hand through his dark hair, making it stick up haphazardly. The diamonds in his ears catch the morning sun and I blink, then take a sip of water.

  “I’d like to take you out tonight.”

  I almost choke. “Excuse me?”

  “A date. You, me, and dinner. Maybe a movie or go to your favorite bar. All up to you.”

  “What about Charlie?”

  His lips thin, jaw working. “Whatever you heard from Julia... it’s not true. Don’t believe anything that doesn’t come directly from me.”

  “So you’re not together?”

  “Not since Fall Break.”

  Great. I’m the rebound girl. “You have huge ones, you know that?” I want to take the words back. He can skewer me, with anything that remotely resembles a sexual remark.

  He grins, and my stomach roils. God, can’t I have peace in a building my dad owns? “You’re pretty damn intimidating.”

  Pressing my hand against my chest, I gape at him. “I’m intimidating? I’m not the one who ran Forrestville High with his crew.”

  “Smart girls are intimidating to dumb jocks.”

  “You were co-valedictorian, West.” If he thinks he’ll flatter his way into getting me to agree, he has another thing coming.

  “Wasn’t just talking about book smarts.” His grin falls and he leans forward a little. “You could see through me… you saw through all of us with those pretty grey eyes, and I’m asking you to look at me, really look at me, and tell me I’m the same person.”

  I look at him, into his chocolate eyes, and almost step away. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he does look sincere, that the smug jock is gone, but a week of apologies, both spoken and in the form of breakfast deliveries, doesn’t erase years of knowledge.

  Fear guides my words. Fear and anger over how he thinks I’m so easily swayed by carefully chosen phrases. “I don’t see anything worth my time.”

  He stands, crossing the small distance between us. His mouth is inches away and I can’t stop staring at his lips. I know how he tastes, how he uses those full lips of his to make a girl cry out his name. How he devasta
ted me with his kisses, with his touch.

  With his lies.

  My hands come between us, intent on shoving him away, but I can’t bring myself to touch him. His fingers curl around my wrists, like brands, marking me and reminding me that with one touch he can weaken my resolve.

  I hate that I’m still attracted to him. There should be a biological law written in the textbooks that read: Once a guy is a jerk to you, then you shall no longer want to mate with him.

  Or something like that.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Why?” I lick my lips, not to entice him, but because they’ve become as dry as my throat.

  “Because you’re worth all of mine, and then some.”

  Chapter Five

  West

  I want to kiss McKenzie so bad that I’m about to combust.

  She’s still as tempting as the first day I saw her, hair the color of leaves in the fall flowing down her back, wearing a short skirt and red cowgirl boots.

  Red. I’d had fantasies for months about her in those boots.

  But she hadn’t noticed me, not one damn time, until I made her notice me.

  Until I found out her dad cut our grass, and sometimes she helped him. I remember seeing her from my window, her strong arms push mowing the front lawn, her toned calves flexing as she walked.

  A decent human being would have taken the opportunity to have brought her some water and made small talk. Instead, I made sure everyone called her lawn girl and cut her down at every opportunity.

  Only the more I pushed, the more I taunted, the more determined she became to ignore me. Me, Weston Diaz, captain of the soccer team while merely a sophomore, star student, and liked by teachers, administrators, and students.

  Who wouldn’t want to be my friend? Who wouldn’t want to date me? Be seen with me? Be acknowledge by me?

  McKenzie Walsh, the girl I fell in love and lust with at first sight.

  And here we are again. She’s determined to ignore my efforts. But unlike last time, I’m determined to do the right thing.

  “I can’t take back what I did to you, what I said to you or anyone else about you, but what I can do is hope.” My fingers are still wrapped around her slender wrists, and she has no idea what it does to me. She has no idea that by her allowing me to touch her, even like this, makes me want to drop to my knees in thanks.

  Her gray eyes search my face, shiny and bright. “Hope?”

  I nod. “Hope you’ll give me a chance to prove I’m worth your time. Worth getting to know now, three years later and on your terms,” I say. Since she won’t let me do anything for her, words are all I have. But once I have her permission, my actions will do all the talking.

  “What will you do if I don’t agree to go out with you tonight?”

  I’m not proud for what I’m about to say, but I’m desperate. “I’ll keep coming here every day. Hell, I might start coming by your house in the afternoon to drink beer with your dad.”

  “You’re not old enough to drink,” she reminds me.

  In two months I will be, but I’m not about to argue with her. “Fine. We’ll drink milk and bake cookies together. That better?”

  A giggle escapes her mouth, but then her eyes widen. In fear. Fear I’ll make fun of her again, for something that’s one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. My heart aches, like it should.

  “One date, sweetheart, and then, if at the end of it, you still think I’m not worth your time, I’ll stop bothering you.”

  Triumph replaces fear, and while I’m glad the fear’s gone, a moment of dread enters my body. I should have asked for two dates or a week of dates. A couple hours of dinner and whatever else she wants to do isn’t enough time.

  Then again, I never specified an ending time. “Do you have a curfew?”

  “Not since my senior year.” She snorts. “I’d have to actually go out with a guy to… have…” Her words fade away as she realizes what she just admitted.

  I’m worse than a jerk or asshole. The word for what I am doesn’t exist in any language. “So, is that a yes?”

  A tiny nod sends her hair sliding over her shoulders. I want to bury my face in her hair, to see if she still smells like hothouse flowers.

  I still remember our school’s greenhouse and the flowers she’d grow inside of it. She loved to hang out in there, and would always come out with a smudge of dirt on her nose and black soil under her nails. I never bothered her there, because the greenhouse seemed like her sacred pace, much like the soccer field was for me.

  “But only because I won’t have to see you ever again after tonight.”

  Heart sinking, I let her go and turn away. “See you at six.”

  “Where will we meet?”

  Pausing at the door, I glance over my shoulder and give her my most confident grin. “At your house. I’m picking you up.”

  “But then I can’t go home when I want.” Her lower lip sticks out a little and I want to nibble on it.

  God, it’s going to be hard keeping my hands off her tonight. “Baby, you won’t want to go home.”

  Her pretty eyes widen, and I push open the door, my ego buoyed by her physical response.

  “Don’t count on it,” she mutters, loud enough for me to hear.

  Once again, my smile falls, but I don’t falter. I stride to my car like I didn’t hear a thing.

  ***

  When I pull up to her house at five ‘til six, I frown. McKenzie’s waiting for me by the curb, red cowgirl boots and short denim skirt making it almost impossible for me to park.

  Does she really think I’m going to let her hop in my car, without paying respect to her dad first?

  One: My dad would shoot me.

  Two: Her dad would cut off my nuts.

  Three: I’m not that stupid to let her win the first round.

  Before she can open the passenger side door, I make sure it’s locked and get out. “Is your dad home?”

  She sighs, letting go of the handle. “Yes. He’s inside watching the game.”

  I start for her house. Behind me, the heels of her boots click loudly on the paved driveway. McKenzie lives in a nice working-class neighborhood. The lawns are neat, the houses small. Three of them would fit inside my house with room leftover.

  “Where are you going?” she asks as I follow the curving sidewalk.

  “To the front door.”

  “Why?”

  I stop and turn, barely stopping her from running into me by grabbing her upper arms. The wool coat she has on keeps me from feeling the skin underneath but not the firm muscles.

  “Because when a man asks a woman out in the south, it’s proper to speak to her parents first.”

  Her mouth forms a little O. “But this isn’t a real date.”

  It is for me. “Stop worrying so much. I’m great with parents.”

  “I bet you are.” She scowls at me. “If my dad knew the truth about what you did to me, you wouldn’t be allowed in my house.”

  “Tell him, then,” I challenge. “If Ted wants to beat the shit out of me for what I did to his little girl, I won’t stop him.”

  She jerks out of my grip, running ahead of me and tossing over her shoulder, “It’s Mr. Walsh to you.”

  In less than five minutes, I exchanged small talk, have my manhood threatened, and open the car door for McKenzie while Mr. Walsh watches, beer in one hand and shotgun in the other.

  He waves it at us as I back out of the drive.

  All in all, a pretty good first meeting as McKenzie’s date.

  “I should have told him,” she grumbles.

  “Probably.” I shift gears and turn up the music at little.

  “He might have actually put bullets in his gun.”

  I glance at her. “It wasn’t loaded?”

  “Did you see him point it at you?”

  “No.”

  “Then it wasn’t loaded. You only aim at what you plan on killing, remember?” she says, like I should know anything
about guns.

  “Sorry, they didn’t teach that in my Guide to Guns for Gangbangers.”

  A sharp intake of breath and her hand actually covers mine. “I didn’t mean to imply that because you’re… you’re—”

  “I was kidding.”

  “You were?”

  “Seriously, McKenzie, drop it. I thought you meant it as an insult to my lack of red neck, not my ethnicity.”

  This time McKenzie snorts. “Well, you are a city boy.”

  I brake for a red light and turn to her, leaning over the console in the middle. “Baby, there are lots of things this city boy could teach a country girl like you.”

  “Like how to speak Spanish?”

  I slip the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. “What would you want to say?” Please be something really dirty, I silently beg.

  “The light is green.”

  “Oh yeah—” My nose scrunches up on one side. “Huh?” That’s not dirty at all. A car honks its horn behind us and she busts out laughing.

  I hit the gas, unable to keep the grin off my face, because if she’s laughing, she’s having a good time… and that means I’m winning.

  *** *** ***

  McKenzie

  I’m actually having a good time with West as we drive through downtown Forrestville.

  “Where are we going for dinner?”

  “Where ever you want.” He shifts from second to third, and I sink back into the leather seats. It feels surreal to ride in his car, to be with him on a date, no matter how fake I think it is. He’s so casual about it, while I can’t stop thinking someone will spring from the back of his car and throw me out.

  “Tanaka’s.”

  I watch his reaction carefully. A small smile plays on his sexy mouth, and if I could see the other side, his dimple would be visible. “Sounds great. I’ll call ahead.” While he makes the call, I turn to stare out the window. His answer wasn’t what I expected. I thought he’d say no and pick a different place.

  Besides having no privacy, because we’ll be seated with at least six other people, Tanaka’s is one of the most popular restaurants in Forrestville. Everyone goes there.